I don’t usually get angry when I eat—even when the food is bad. I’ll suffer through it, crack a joke, and move on with my life. But this absolute dumpster fire of a BBQ joint? This place had me clenching my fists like I was...
Read MoreI don’t usually get angry when I eat—even when the food is bad. I’ll suffer through it, crack a joke, and move on with my life. But this absolute dumpster fire of a BBQ joint? This place had me clenching my fists like I was about to go 12 rounds with a plate of disappointment.
Let’s set the scene. I roll into Borger, Texas—a state where BBQ is supposed to be sacred, like Texas football. So I asked around—talked to the locals, talk to my refinery buddies, and say, "Hey, where’s the best BBQ in town?" And without missing a beat, every single one of them goes, "Nowhere. BBQ here sucks."
That should have been my sign. I should have listened. But nope! Like an idiot, I pull up Google and type in "BBQ near me", and this place pops up. Sutphen’s BBQ Bar & Grill.
Outside? Looks legit. Smokey vibes, rustic signage, all the visual cues of a place that knows how to burn meat the right way. I step inside—kind of empty. But hey, that could just mean I beat the dinner rush, right? Wrong.
I get the menu, and that’s when the alarms start blaring in my head. BBQ, Mexican food, burgers, seafood, a chicken section, a steak section?? What is this, a Denny’s that went through an identity crisis?
I’m on the phone with my wife, scanning this trainwreck of a menu, and even she calls it. "That BBQ is gonna suck. Their menu’s too big. They don’t specialize."
But I’m hard-headed. I don’t listen. I order the combination plate—because if you’re gonna judge a BBQ joint, you judge them on their holy trinity: ribs, brisket, sausage. The plate also came with beans, coleslaw, potato salad, and onion rings. I even throw in some mozzarella sticks because at this point, why not.
Now, let’s talk about the wait time. BBQ should be ready to go. It’s not a cooked-to-order meal, it’s smoked for hours and then plated up FAST. But these guys? 15 minutes. What the hell were they doing back there? Plucking the cow?
Finally, I get my plate.
And I nearly lost my mind.
THE BRISKET. Two—TWO—tiny cubes. Tiny. My jalapeño was bigger than the brisket portion! This is TEXAS, people. This should be a crime! The flavor? Barely existent. What little taste it did have? Artificial. Like someone spritzed it with Liquid Smoke and called it a day.
THE SAUSAGE
Absolutely disgusting. Mushy, like it was made from the parts of the pig no one talks about. The smoke flavor? Weird. Not mesquite, not pecan—honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was flavored with burnt shoe leather and broken dreams.
THE RIB. One sad, skinny, meatless bone. Dry as a West Texas summer, no bark, no smoke ring, no soul. Like they just left it in the desert overnight and hoped the wind would season it.
THE SIDES
Beans? Fine. (Mostly because at that point, I needed something edible.)
Potato salad? Straight-up mayonnaise soup, wet, too much mayo, chunky, no mustard tang. If your doing Texas BBQ, mustard tang is a must!
Onion rings? So soggy they looked depressed. I tossed them.
Mozzarella sticks? Surprisingly fine, but if the best thing in your BBQ joint is the mozzarella sticks, you need to shut it down.
At this point, I’m so mad, I don’t ever want to bother with the rest of the menu. I’m done.
And that’s the thing—this place needs to STOP pretending to do BBQ.
This is Texas, and you served me tiny brisket cubes, a dry meatless rib bone, and what I can only assume was sausage made from the mistakes of humanity.
If you’re looking for BBQ, don’t come here. Don’t even come to Borger. Find a cow, apologize to it for what happened here, and eat your own shoe. It’ll have more flavor.
I payed 36$ for this straight-up BS!
1 star. Because I can’t give zero.
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